Skipping the Turnstile

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Recommended: factors affecting time management for students

When I was 14 years old, in ninth grade of high school, I loved spending time with friends. The only problem was I didn't really get along with many of my classmates or the kids in my neighborhood. I had to find friends in other places, so I would travel every day from my school in mid-town Manhattan to lower Manhattan where I had made many friends that were similar to me. I always ended up hanging out much later than I should have. My curfew was 9:00 PM, which is probably later than it should have been at my age, but I thought it was too early. I would stay out and not even keep track of time.

One night I left immediately after class to run downtown, it was around 3:30 pm when I hopped on the train. I couldn't wait to get to the park to sit and talk with my friends. I had a rough day with all the robots in my school, the picture perfect, goodie two shoes who sung as they skipped down the hallways. They drove me insane and I needed to rant to somebody. When I got off the train and finally met with my friends, it was around 4:30 pm. We walked from 14th street down to Astor Place, because there was a Starbucks that we enjoyed sitting in to keep warm. My friends and I were always broke, no allowance, no jobs, we just mooched off of society.

After sitting for hours laughing, ranting, and mostly just messing around with my friends, I decided to check the time. It was already 8:45! Not only was I going to be home much later than I should, but it was too late to use my student metro-card! I ran to the subway station hoping that it gave me a long enough grace period to use the card. The deadline on it was 8:30 pm, but you never knew. I swiped the card multiple times through the cold metal, but there it was, that horrible beeping. Th...

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...ange window seat. I leaned my head against the glass, relieved to finally be on my way home. I looked at my cellphone a saw it was past 9:30 pm. I was going to be over an hour late by the time I got home. I was not looking forward to being yelled at. Next time, I thought, I would have to set an alarm on my cell to let me know when I have to be on my way. I didn't want to be in that situation again.

When I think back on it, I realize there were other ways I could have gotten home. I could have asked someone to help me on the train, or stopped one of those police officers driving by. I probably should have called my mother, but I didn't because I was embarrassed and scared. I don't think I made a particularly bad decision. At the time I thought that was the only way I was going to get home. I probably would have been there for hours if I didn't make the choice I did.

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